


A Kirkwall Halloween

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: The Prince's Knight [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen, Halloween, Tumblr Prompt, the womp mallet makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Merrill is homesick as Halloween–-a traditional elven holiday-–approaches, and her friends decide to do something special for her.





	A Kirkwall Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> A request for joufancyhuh on tumblr for Halloween Sebhawke. Halloween seemed like it could be an elven thing so it is!
> 
> See more about Felicity on her [tumblr tag.](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/tagged/felicity%20hawke)

“Bash!” It was never hard to guess when the Champion was in to see her favorite chantry brother. While she did her best not to disturb anyone, she didn’t have time to run all around Kirkwall’s massive chantry trying to find him. Perhaps this was why he had taken to sticking around the front rooms when he knew Hawke was about town. At the sound of her voice, he appeared over the railing on the upper floor. Hawke waved cheerfully and came up. “Are you free today?” she asked.

“Do we have a job?” he asked. Despite the fact that Hawke was the one always signing on to these ventures, Sebastian always referred to them as “their” jobs.

“No.” She smiled and something in Sebastian relaxed, soothed by her presence. Grand Cleric Elthina did not approve of his friendship with Hawke, but he could not have surrendered his new friends even if she demanded it. There were few trying to do good in the city, and Hawke was one of them—he meant to help her with it. “Fenris has invited us to come play wicked grace tonight!”

…although Elthina did have a point about Hawke’s troublesome nature. Fortunately, she was not out in the nave at that time, and did not overhear Hawke shouting about card games. Sebastian hurried down the steps before she could yell anything else that might get him in trouble and met Hawke at the base.

“Will you come?” she asked. “I can escort you.” Sebastian had told Hawke before he did not need her to walk him through the city, even at night, but she insisted it was too dangerous to go alone (this despite the obvious fact that _she_ walked around Kirkwall alone at night), and it gave him an excuse to be in her company more.

“I’d be happy to,” he said with a smile. “I’ve never seen Fenris’ home before.”

“Ah. Well…don’t have many expectations,” she said, reaching out as if to clap him on the arm, as she did Varric and Aveline and Isabela, before restraining herself. “It’s uh…well. It’s Fenris’.”

“Hawke, I’ve learned not to waste my time with expectations where our friends are concerned,” Sebastian replied. A crooked smile tugged at Hawke’s lips.

“They’re one of a kind,” she said with a little laugh. “All of them.” Hawke then took her leave, promising to return later that night to fetch Sebastian for cards. She gave him a small bow on her way out, a little quirk she had picked up recently, which Sebastian had never quibbled with, despite his position as a lay brother and not a prince, as the way it made his heart skip a beat was too enjoyable to disrupt. The idea of Hawke as his own personal knight was one that set his heart aflutter in ways he had not felt—perhaps _ever_, given his past fixation on the physical rather than the emotional aspects of his relationships.

He watched her stride out of the chantry, leaning against the stair railing, wondering yet _again_ if he were not being a fool to forsake the secular world.

True to her word, Hawke arrived at dusk to escort him to Fenris’ house. When she saw him come down the chantry steps, she could not hide the smile that spread across her honest face and Sebastian found himself returning the expression without thought.

“Merrill was telling me about an elven holiday coming up,” she said as they made their way through the dimming streets, much thinned out from their peak crowds at midday. “Something about how the line between our world and the Fade becomes blurred this time of year—apparently the clan is going to be having a celebration.”

“Is she feeling homesick?”

“I suppose she is,” Hawke said. “I mentioned her going back for it, but she won’t have it. You know how she is—she doesn’t want to ask the clan for anything. I’m sure Keeper Marathari would welcome her back for a night.” A frown passed over Hawke’s face.

“Did she say what the celebration would entail?”

“Yes, apparently the idea is to warn off any ill-intentioned spirits,” Hawke explained. “So traditionally they make masks or wear face paint to scare them away. She said they tell lots of ghost stories and things too, especially among the children. There are usually treats—sweet things, mostly, she said.”

“I don’t think masks can scare spirits,” Sebastian said. Hawke shrugged.

“I’m hardly an expert. We can ask Anders. Maybe if we make a mask frightening enough, we can scare Justice right out of him,” she said, a smirk flitting across her face. Sebastian snorted and tried to disguise the sound.

“I’m sure he’ll be grateful for the suggestion,” he said.

The weather in Kirkwall was turning quickly. Fall never lasted long, and usually involved copious amounts of rain. As with the politics, the weather was extreme in Kirkwall, and rarely comfortable. It was just a few weeks past the fall equinox, but Sebastian’s fingers and toes were prickling with chill by the time they reached Fenris’ place in Hightown. Hawke paused outside the door.

“No expectations,” she reminded him before knocking vigorously. It was several moments before Fenris picked his way through the large structure to answer the door.

“Hawke. Sebastian.” He stepped aside to let them in and the first thing that hit was the dank smell, carrying with it the smell of rotting wood, something that was uncomfortably like _meat_, and the rank odor of fetid water pooling in places it should not have been.

“This is…ah…” Sebastian tried to find a way to play off the grotesqueness of the mansion, but words failed him.

“It belonged to my master, Danarius,” Fenris said, looking around the dilapidated estate with a sense of pride. “I have taken it upon myself to look after it for him. This way.” He led them deeper into the house, towards a flickering light emanating from upstairs. Abruptly, Sebastian stopped as something cold and wet hit the back of his neck and slid down his back.

“Something just went down my back,” he whispered to Hawke. She looked up at the ceiling, whose structural integrity seemed questionable at best, and then gave Sebastian a helpless, apologetic look.

“There are leaks,” she said. He just looked at her a moment, then closed his eyes and nodded. It was Fenris’ home, which he had invited them to—even if it did seem, to borrow Isabela’s vernacular, like a shithole.

“Right.”

In the upstairs bedroom, a small wooden table had been set up in front of the fireplace, and Fenris had not left it alone.

“Hello, Donnic,” Hawke said, dropping her weapon by the wall before taking her seat. The guardsman gave her a nod, shuffling the cards between thick fingers.

“Evening, Hawke. Ready to get started?”

***

“I had an idea,” Sebastian proposed as they emerged back into the Hightown streets after he had cleaned the other three out in cards.

“Can it wait a moment?” Donnic asked. “I’m still smarting from that last game. How did a chantry brother learn to play like that?” An impish little smile pulled at Sebastian’s lips and he looked over at Hawke, who was biting down a smile of her own. She knew of his _colorful_ past, but said nothing.

“Oh, here and there,” he said. “I used to play more often.”

“I didn’t think they allowed cards in the Chantry,” Donnic said.

“They don’t,” Sebastian replied. “It was before I joined.” He and Hawke waved Donnic off as he took his own path home, and then Sebastian turned his attention back to the original remark. “About Merrill,” he said. “Perhaps we could do something to make her feel better about not going home for this celebration.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea!” Hawke’s eyes brightened. “We could have our own little celebration here! That’s perfect! I’ll talk to Varric and see if I can get more details from Merrill about it,” she said.

“It must be hard for her, feeling like she cannot go home,” he said.

“I think she wants to feel that Kirkwall is her home,” Hawke said. “But it is hard on her. I wish she could resolve whatever fight she’s had with the keeper.”

“Have you tried…?” Hawke nodded.

“It’s one thing she’s very stubborn about. I can’t make her talk to Marathari, so I think your idea is better.” She smiled. “We’ll see what we can do here for Merrill, and maybe that will help a bit.”

The sky was black with the hour, lit by the stars that still showed around the glow of Kirkwall’s lamps and braziers. The streets were occupied only by those skulking about with some nefarious goal, or skinny rats and mangy dogs scurrying about, trying to unearth some scraps left behind during the day. Hawke’s eyes continually roved around them, assessing threats as a matter of course. It reminded Sebastian that she had been a mercenary before he met her, something that was easy to forget with her level temper and sense of justice. When Sebastian had first seen her, despite the hulking size and facial tattoos, she had not been what he expected of a mercenary. He had known that from the moment she returned his mother’s locket to him rather than keeping it as part of her payment.

“Thank you for the escort, Hawke,” he said when they had arrived at the chantry.

“Of course,” she said. “I couldn’t let something happen to the heir to the Starkhaven throne on my watch.” Something she cited frequently in regards to favors of this sort. “Thanks for coming to cards. I think Fenris likes you.”

“Does he?”

“It’s hard to tell with Fenris,” she chuckled. “But I think so. He did invite you over.”

“That’s true. I hope so, I…did wonder if I would ever manage to fit in with your friends.” There was a half-moon hanging over the city and its light broke through the holes in the cloud cover to beam down on the chantry steps.

“And I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Hawke said with a smile. “Thanks for the idea about Halloween, too. I’ll talk to Merrill and Varric and see what we can put together. Most of us can understand about feeling homesick.”

“Do you miss Ferelden often?” he asked. His own longing for Starkhaven had faded long ago, but the deaths of his family had renewed it, stirring the forgotten sensation in the back of his mind.

“Sometimes,” she answered. “Not often. My life is here now. There are little things…Aveline and I talk about it sometimes.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Hawke’s eyes studied the stone steps, considering.

“I don’t know. I never thought I would leave.” She shrugged. “I can’t say what might happen in the future, but I have no plans to return.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” The words came out of him before he could think and restrain them. Hawke lifted her gaze to his.

“Good?”

“Er—that you’re staying,” Sebastian said, grasping desperately for an answer besides _Because I’d miss you._ “Kirkwall needs more people like you, Hawke.”

“Oh.” Did she seem disappointed by that answer? Had she hoped he would say something else? His chest felt constricted with the knowledge of a truth he refused to consider. “Yes, I suppose there is still work for us to do here. I hope we’re helping.”

“I think we are,” he said. She had come only to drop him off, but things went this way often—where it took them twenty or thirty minutes to say goodbye. On occasion, it went on even longer. There were times—like just then—that they both realized how long they were taking, and they stopped talking, just looked at each other, as if waiting for one or the other to announce it was time to get going.

“Goodnight, then,” Hawke said. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he said, a faintly amused look on his face. She had a variety of such Ferelden idioms, which always entertained him, and Varric too. As he went up the stairs to the chantry, he could feel Hawke there at the street, waiting to be sure he made it in through the door before she departed for the lonely walk back to the Amell estate. He turned, nearly at the top of the stairs, to call back to her. “Hawke?”

“Yes?” She startled, not used to being caught waiting for him to enter the chantry.

“I’m glad you’re staying in Kirkwall.” In the dark and with the distance, he couldn’t tell if she was smiling, but he thought he heard it in her voice.

“So am I, Sebastian.”

“Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

With that, he pushed through the heavy chantry doors, and Hawke, presumably, made the trek back to her home.

***

Varric _loved_ the idea of Halloween, predictably. Together with Hawke, Isabela, and Sebastian, he decided what they really needed was a costume party, which they could host in his own rooms there at the Hanged Man. When Hawke went to Merrill about it, she had a moment of consternation about the idea of _shemlen_ being involved, but when she had the chance to explain it to all of them, her enthusiasm grew.

“Oh, this is going to be fun!” she chirped as Hawke and Varric walked her back to her house in the alienage. “It will be interesting to see what you all come up with, since didn’t grow up hearing Dalish stories. I don’t _need_ to go back to the clan to enjoy the holiday.”

“You’ll just have to let us know when we’re getting things all wrong,” Varric said. Merrill laughed.

“I can do that!” They dropped her off and bade her goodnight and meandered back towards the Hanged Man.

“This is a good thing we’re doing,” Varric said as they passed a small group of elves circled around a torch, dealing cards. “Good idea, Hawke.”

“It was Sebastian’s idea, actually,” she replied.

“Well, I’m counting it as your idea.” Hawke sighed and shook her head.

“I mentioned Merrill being a bit low about not being home for it again when we were going to cards with Fenris the other night,” she said. “And he thought we should do something for her.” The night air was still, letting Kirkwall’s various smells and reeks settle at street level. Lowtown was particularly pungent, reminding Hawke powerfully of her old days living in the slums.

“Choir Boy’s going to cards now? Doesn’t sound like something the Grand Cleric would approve of. Going out late at night with you, playing cards?” Varric tsked. “Better keep that on the down-low or you’ll get him grounded.” Hawke rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be bitter that you had to spend the night making sure Anders didn’t get in a fight,” she said. “And it sounds more like _you_ don’t approve, Varric.”

“I don’t,” he said, sounding content that Hawke had deduced it. “You and Prince Goody Two-Shoes spend way too much time together.”

“Don’t be jealous, it’s not attractive,” Hawke replied.

“I’m just saying, you have better options.”

“Like what, Anders?”

“_Andraste_, no.” Varric shook his head. “But you live in Hightown now! Kirkwall is your oyster! Don’t settle.”

“Right, not settling for the prince of Starkhaven.” Hawke rolled her eyes again.

“Titles aren’t everything, Hawke,” Varric chided sanctimoniously. Hawke fought the urge to roll her eyes a third time, or possibly push Varric down the stairs they were walking up. “And hasn’t he surrendered that title?”

“Just think about what you’re going to wear to the party,” she said.

“Oh, believe me, I am,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got plenty of ideas for that.”

The one he ultimately decided on appeared to be a walking political jibe. He wore a bizarre home-fashioned toga with a length of grape vine wrapped around his head and he carried around a wine goblet and a carved wooden stick sharpened to a vicious point. He had painted a blood-curdling smile on his face with black paint and looked as if he’d borrowed some of Isabela’s purple eyeshadow—or perhaps someone had punched him in both eyes.

“I’m the Black Divine!” he said to Hawke and she burst out laughing.

“I think the Grand Cleric would mightily approve of the representation,” she said with a grin. Merrill was sitting over by the fire wearing a frankly terrifying mask carved of wood, whose stiff mouth and hollow eyes appeared to gaze into the very soul. She waved cheerily at Hawke and turned her attention back to Isabela (whose only commitment to a costume was the tricorn perched jauntily on her head with a bright red feather sticking out of it), who was performing a card trick that had more to do with picking Merrill’s pockets—or it would have, if Merrill had _had_ anything in her pockets, besides some odd bits of twine.

“So what are you, Hawke? A giant?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” she replied dryly. “You wore that one out three years ago, Varric.”

“Should’ve painted yourself green and walked around laughing all night.”

“I’m, uh…I dunno. Spooky.” She hefted in her hand the womp-mallet she had borrowed from Gamlen and tugged at the flowing white shirt she’d combined with baggy pants and a hat she’d bought off an eclectic accessory merchant in Lowtown. “Do you have any more of that paint you used on your face? Maybe I can try to do something with that…”

“Oh, let me!” Varric pleaded. “I’ll fix you right up.”

Fenris and Sebastian arrived after Varric had finished painting black circles all around Hawke’s eyes and was busy trying to outline her tattoos in red. Fenris had worn nothing for the occasion but his usual sullen expression. However, he allowed Isabela to call him over for another demonstration of her “card trick”. Varric made Hawke sit still until he had finished before she could look to see what they had worn.

“What…are you _wearing_, Bash?” she asked when her eyes alighted on the Vael heir.

“I was…trying to think of scary things,” he said, not meeting Hawke’s eyes. “So…a scarecrow.” Hawke’s eyes swept up and down the lumpy burlap outfit, straw poking out at every angle, the shapeless hat fraying at the edges, and burst into raucous laughter.

“You look ridiculous,” she wheezed, clutching Varric’s dining table for support. “Oh, Maker’s breath!” Merrill began to laugh too and Fenris simply smirked, as if he’d won a bet.

“I think it’s very scary, Sebastian,” Merrill assured him. “We won’t have any evil spirits visiting us tonight. They’ll all be too terrified to come in the room.”

“It’s not nearly as scary as that bloody mask you’ve got on,” Isabela muttered.

“Anybody want a drink? Hey Choir Boy, come here and I’ll give you some face paint to go with that outfit.” Sebastian approached with the air of someone expecting to have a chair pulled out from underneath him, which Hawke considered, frankly, wise. Still, he did let Varric go at it with the paint, tempered somewhat by the stern glower Hawke sent him over Sebastian’s head, warning him away from his worst impulses. He settled for bright red circles on his cheeks and nose and Hawke promptly plucked the brush out of his hand after this in case he meant to do anything else. “Hey, come on, I wasn’t done yet!” he exclaimed.

“You want the brush? Take it,” Hawke said, holding her arm out straight. Varric squinted at her.

“This is revenge for the giant thing, isn’t it?”

“It absolutely is.”

“Hawke, come on! You’re six-two, you’re a giant to other humans!” Hawke put the brush on top of Varric’s bookshelf. Further squabbling on the matter was put off by the arrival of Aveline, and shortly after, Anders. The former wore a misshapen paper mask that no one could really identify, and the latter appeared to be spattered in blood—whether it was real, or a theatrical effect, no one really wanted to ask. Hawke couldn’t stop herself from breaking out into snickers every time she looked over at Sebastian. Anders also made a point of exclaiming about the ludicrous outfit, but any more biting remarks were cut short by Varric presenting the food. Cheers sounded around the room as everyone moved to the refreshments.

With a plate of food, Hawke sat down on the floor next to Merrill, withholding a flinch at seeing the mask turn to look at her in such close proximity.

“How are you feeling, Merrill?” she asked. “This probably isn’t much like the Dalish holiday, but…” She glanced around at their friends, whose excited voices and laughter bounced off the walls of Varric’s quarters.

“It’s marvelous, Hawke,” she replied, presumably smiling behind the wooden horror. “It was so kind of you all to put this together, just for me.”

“I think Varric had quite a bit of fun doing it,” Hawke said, eyeing a set of streamers on the wall.

“I think so too. I’m glad.” She looked around the room, taking in the sight of the revelers. “This is nice. I wasn’t sure when you first brought it up but—I’m glad you did it.”

“Thank Sebastian, it was his idea,” Hawke said.

“Oh, really? That’s so sweet. I’ll be sure to say something.”

The wine goblets went around, and Merrill got to sharing old Dalish stories. They gathered loosely around the fireplace and she took off her wooden mask (to everyone’s relief) so she could be better heard as she regaled them with old scary stories she and her friends had told as children and teenagers among the Sabrae. Eventually, she got too giggly to continue, and they broke apart into groups: Aveline was playing wicked grace with Isabela and Anders (and losing spectacularly, as Anders accused Isabela of cheating); Sebastian was talking to Merrill about—possibly—nug variants of Starkhaven; Varric was scratching down notes on a bit of parchment, quite plausibly for novelistic purposes. Hawke, warm with wine and firelight and the presence of all her friends, was letting her mind drift contentedly when Varric clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Hawke, we need your help with something down in the street.”

“Huh? Okay.” She blinked stupidly at him, trying to shake the fog from her mind, and stretched as she rose from the floor.

“Are you leaving, Hawke?” Sebastian called to her.

“No, Varric just needs help with something,” she replied.

“I can help too,” he offered, getting up from where he sat beside Merrill.

“Sorry, we don’t need any help frightening off the birds,” Varric said. This did not deter Sebastian, who had grown quite used to ignoring Varric’s remarks.

“What is it you need help with, exactly?” Sebastian asked as they emerged into the cool night. After the heat of the Hanged Man, it was a shock, and Hawke breathed deeply of the fresh air—as fresh as the air in Lowtown could be.

“We just saw something over here, figured there’s no one better to take a look at it than Hawke.”

“Is it an animal?” Sebastian asked. Varric shrugged.

“How should I know? That’s why we need Hawke to check it out.”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t w—” Hawke paused, squinting into the darkness. Her eyes trailed along a long black _thing_ sticking out of the shadowy alley, then back towards the source, and Varric could _see_ her mind calculating how big a spider would need to be for its leg to be that long. Hawke was not a screamer, but Varric was familiar with her panic response—the sharp, quiet gasp and the leap backwards from the object of alarm, practically into Sebastian’s arms. The ex-prince was voicing no complaints, and moved as if to put Hawke away from the danger and finally get a chance to make her swoon. “It’s a fucking spider!” Before Varric could break into laughter as Hawke realized she was unarmed, she seized the womp-mallet at her waist and threw herself at the spider, swinging wildly. “Fucking spiders! I hate fucking spiders!”

Varric, frozen in both alarm and amusement, and Sebastian, unarmed and unable to shoot clearly through the dark, could only stare as yells started punctuating Hawke’s swings.

“Hawke! Maker’s balls, stop!” A scuffle ensued and Hawke tumbled back out of the alley, followed by a battered-looking Fenris. “That was a brilliant idea,” he said to Varric as if he were considering how much work it would be to rip Varric’s intestines out. Varric looked them both over and then the laughter came, raucous and unrepentant. Fenris threw down a paper spider leg. “You were supposed to make sure she was unarmed!”

“I forgot about the fucking—womp-mallet,” Varric wheezed, Fenris’ anger only serving to amuse him further. That his friend’s defeat had come at the end of such a ridiculous, ancient bit of sporting equipment made it twice as hilarious.

“Oh, you’re both real funny,” Hawke said, her face reddening. This was admirable, as it was already red on a regular basis, owing to her mild case of rosacea, and became even more so when she drank. It was too dark to tell, but Varric wondered if it had reached the tips of her ears yet.

“Happy Halloween,” Varric said, barely able to get the words out.

“That wasn’t funny, Varric,” Sebastian said, but the way he bit his lip did not add credibility to his words.

“Oh, come on, you should be on my side!” Varric exclaimed. “I practically dropped her into your arms!” That shut Vael up well for the time being, and Hawke went on glaring and blushing. Fenris, deciding his snappy words were not enough revenge, picked up the spider leg and began to bludgeon Varric with it.

“You are _terrible_ at planning pranks!” The assault brought on only a fresh round of laughter, which was joined by Hawke and Sebastian’s snickering as Varric tried feebly to fend Fenris off. He stopped only when the leg began to fall apart, black paint flaking off it, and ended his battery by throwing it at Varric’s head.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on out here?” Aveline had emerged from the Hanged Man, with Merrill and Anders in her shadow.

“Why don’t you ask Varric?” Fenris said. “I need a damn drink.”

“I would apologize,” Hawke said, “but you were part of this too, you ass.” Fenris made a face and stomped past Aveline back into the tavern.

“You really should have seen your face when you saw the first leg,” Varric said. Hawke punched him in the shoulder, making him stagger back a step. “Ow! Damn Hawke. That was unnecessary! Hasn’t there been enough violence for one night?” She just shook her head and followed Fenris back inside, leaving Varric to explain to the others about the fake spider.

“Ugh.”

“What?” Sebastian, on her heels as usual, looked curiously at her.

“I’ve dented Gamlen’s womp-mallet,” she said, holding it up. Sebastian looked from the mallet to Hawke, then the laugher rumbled up from his chest.

“Hawke, you are one of a kind,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Almost at once, he realized he had done it, and promptly withdrew. She was looking at the place where his hand had been, then at him, and for a moment they shared a mild panic trying to decide what to say until Sebastian blurted out: “Do you want a drink?”

Before Hawke could answer, Merrill and Anders came back inside—she could hear Aveline’s sharp tones outside with Varric—and Merrill danced around the two humans on her way back to Varric’s quarters.

“It wouldn’t really be a party of Varric’s without something exciting happening, would it?” she said.

“I suppose it wouldn’t,” Anders replied.

“Next time, one of you can volunteer to be jumped by Fenris in a spider costume,” Hawke said. But she looked at the smirk on Anders’ face and Merrill’s tipsy grin and felt her face pulling into a reciprocal smile.

“I wasn’t wearing a costume!” Fenris put in from the bar. Hawke shook her head and followed her friends back upstairs. They had time for a few more stories before she’d have to start walking people home.

**Author's Note:**

> [On tumblr](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/188528541595/fandom-dragon-age-2-summary-halloween-request)
> 
> [On Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/886248)


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